


Dr Watson's Stories: Plain Tales from a Plain Man

by Stavia_Scott_Grayson



Series: Dr Watson's Unpublished Stories [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:08:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stavia_Scott_Grayson/pseuds/Stavia_Scott_Grayson
Summary: Dr John Watson did not publish all his stories: some were written only for the eye of his friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes. In particular, after the release of The Sigerson Papers, the doctor began to work on a series of tales that were never given to his publisher, but kept against a future day.





	Dr Watson's Stories: Plain Tales from a Plain Man

**Author's Note:**

> The Blanched Soldier is one of the oddest tales of Sherlock Holmes, being written, apparently, by Holmes himself, Watson being absent.
> 
> It is so odd, in fact, that one wonders whether it is cobbled together from another tale.
> 
> This is a companion piece to Since First I Saw Your Face.

**Dr Watson’s Unpublished Stories.**

**Plain Tales of a Plain Man.**

Tale 1: Good Companions

_In India_

_‘Jimmie? Jimmie, where are you, old chap?’_

_The speaker, a lithe young fellow, long-legged, thin, dark-haired, and handsome beyond the common mould of man, leapt lightly down the rocky defile, ending with a slip and a stumble which precipitated him, laughing, into the arms of another young man who had been watching his progress with an amused eye._

_‘Hold hard, Godfrey: what are you thinking of? You can’t take these steep paths like a buck in spring at this time of day: the shadows make every step a pitfall. What would you have done if I hadn’t been here to catch you, hm?’ Jimmie – James Macpherson Dodd, to give him his full title – set his friend back on his feet. A close observer might have noted a little reluctance in him, a little lingering of hand on arm._

_‘You’ll always be here to catch me, Jimmie. You’ve never failed me yet, and you never will, I am sure of it. Those sharp blue eyes of yours, and your steady hand have saved me from harm many a time already.’_

_‘You refine too much upon small services,’ his friend scolded him. ‘If it were not for you, Godfrey, I would not have survived my injuries, or the fever after them. Never was friend kinder than you when I was in need. Never was friend dearer.’_

_‘Well, enough.’ Godfrey turned away, shy of the praise, ‘Shall we sit then? It is our last evening, after all. I wish I had not to go, old fellow. I would sooner stay here with you than go to a country I have not visited for years, to a father who acknowledged and abandoned me, and now summons me again. I am happier here, where all know who and what I am. In a kinder land, my birth and being do not set me apart: in grey England, I fear they will.’_

_‘Wherever you go you are fitted to make your way.’ Jimmie’s gaze was frank and admiring. ‘Never had a man better knowledge or understanding, never was there a brain of greater capacity or power, a mind of such strength and of such kindness withal: in you a noble reason directs right action, and a gentle heart supports it. You will do splendidly wherever you go: I am sure of it.’_

_‘And you will return soon, yourself, to England? We will be together?’_

_‘I will, my dear fellow: I cannot do without my soul’s friend, my Damon, for long. As soon as I am granted leave, I shall see you again.’_

_‘Be sure you do.’ It was half sigh, half plea. ‘Jimmie, let us sit down together and look at the stars for one last time. I have a presentiment – a thought – a fear thrills though me – that we shall not meet again soon.’_

_‘Come then, sit close. My jacket will serve as seat, and we may be sheltered together in this corner of the rocks. Lay your head on my breast, my dear fellow, and we shall watch the moon rise, and Orion wheel about the sky. But do not be afraid: no matter how far you go, however long we are parted, I will always seek you out. What else should Pythias do, after all?’_

_‘My gallant soldier.’ It was softly spoken, the dark head and the fair resting together, the boy’s long-fingered, nervous hand entwined with the sturdier one of his friend._

_‘Always your soldier.’ The words were but a breath. ‘Always and forever, my dear.’_

In London

‘And so, Mr Holmes, I have not seen Godfrey since that date, and all attempts to contact him have failed. Not one word, and he my closest pal – my more than brother. And God knows what is going on in his house in Bedford, but I don’t like it. I will not tolerate it in fact. What, his father to put me off with short answers and surly words, to receive me so reluctantly, the house so drear and dark, the woman, Godfrey’s stepmother, like a little pale ghost herself, tears always about to fall - and then the apparition, his ghostly face, so unnaturally pale, so full of horror – ah, my Godfrey, but so changed, so pitiably changed!’ The young man drew a harsh breath, and put his hands over his face.

Holmes, with the delicate and unobtrusive sympathy he knew so well how to convey, placed a hand on the unfortunate young man’s shoulder. His voice was grave but soothing.

‘Let me recapitulate your story then, Mr Dodd, while Dr Watson takes notes. So you and this young fellow were friends in India.’

‘The closest friends. I was in the regular army, and he, of course, could not be; he was debarred from that by the circumstances – the irregularity of his birth - but he had a position in the 3rd Sindh, a cavalry regiment – rode like a man born to the saddle, and the bravest – always the bravest – the best - ’ he broke, off, sighing, and Holmes pressed his shoulder again.

‘Bear up. Mr Dodd, we shall recover your friend, I am sure of it. So he travelled to England? You tell me his father had a son, or sons, who died, and then summoned home this child born of a different mother? To see whether he might be worth something, perhaps?’

‘Yes, born of an Indian mother: a Rajputana, who trusted too much in the words of a blackguard. She was of high caste, but the wretch threw her over after promising all. Godfrey showed me a little picture once which he carried with him: she was a woman of singular beauty.’

‘Indeed, and so he summoned this son to – to see what he might make of him. Your friend took after his father? He was acknowledged, then?’

‘He  - in India, you must know, Mr Holmes, the children of such unions are dealt with according to – oh, I hesitate to say it, but according to their fairness of skin. So Godfrey, taking after his father, was schooled in England: he was at all points an English gentleman in his rearing. He was acknowledged, and then abandoned, to make his way in the Indian army, with just as much grudging help as might not shame Colonel Emsworth.’

‘The fair-skinned children may be sent to England for schooling, the darker-skinned sent to a military orphanage, or apprenticed to a trade,’ I told Holmes: I had known many cases like this. ‘But even the English-schooled children then return to India, to take up some work or other - in the railways, or the civil service. It is rare indeed that, like young Emsworth, they are allowed to enter the army. In this case, as Mr Dodd has told us, the father clearly favoured the boy, until it became convenient to him to put the Indian wife aside – the more shame upon him - and take an English heiress. The two boys she bore him dying young, the father bethought him of the son he had left in India, and sent to see what had become of him. You find the story shocking, Holmes,’ and I could see he did, for his black brows were drawn together in a frown, and his thin, mobile mouth compressed – ‘but it is too common to occasion much mention out there.’

‘Thank you, my dear Watson.’ Holmes raised an eyebrow at me, and I could see his thought: long intimacy had given us an almost preternatural ability to divine each other’s minds. ‘In any case, Mr Dodd, after a friendship both deep and longstanding on both your parts, Mr Emsworth – for you tell me he went by his father’s surname -  was summoned home. You heard from him – twice – en route, then a brief note from Southampton, and then nothing, is that correct?’

‘Nothing for six long, weary months, then, when I inquired of his father, nothing but put-offs, and short answers until I boldly – and discourteously, I confess – quartered myself upon him to endeavour to find out what had happened to my friend. And then, as I have told you, Sir, there were evasions, and riddling answers, and anger; the sudden and horrible apparition at my window, my searching the grounds and coming upon him in that miserable little cottage – cottage! Call it a prison, rather! And then his father’s turning me out with threats and remonstrances. So in the end, after I complained at the Yard, your friend Inspector Lestrade directed me to you, saying it was not something he could move on.’

He raised as woebegone a pair of blue eyes as ever I saw to Holmes. ‘Sir, can you help me? Please help me. I cannot let this go. I cannot lose him: he is the very dearest thing on earth to me, the friend of my soul - never were two men closer than we are. I cannot bear to be parted from him an instant longer. And the thought that one so beloved might be in distress- in want, in pain, in fear, under duress or incarceration? I cannot bear it! Help me, Mr Holmes, I beg of you! Tell me what I must do to be reunited with him!’

‘’Be calm, be calm,’ my friend advised our distraught young visitor, and I moved to the sideboard to pour him a sustaining glass of brandy, which he took eagerly. ‘Dr Watson and I will help you, have no fear: we will retrieve your friend. But I think we shall need to travel into the country to the house to help you, and I must also first consult with the doctor here.’

It was clear to me, as I knew it was clear to Holmes, that the young man’s affection for his friend went beyond those feeling which were considered usual: he had betrayed as much by the strong fondness, the reverence with which he spoke of him. His agitation was not the concern felt for a man who is merely one’s comrade, but the deep and dear love felt for the man whom one knows to be a soulmate: more than a brother, more than a friend. A wedded affection, such as few are gifted with, and then gifted only once in a lifetime. We spoke of the case, turning over its implications quietly and soberly, while Dodd went to his hotel room to change and refresh himself, and I consulted certain medical tomes which had not seen the light of day for a while.

The rest of the story bears little telling. We travelled to Bedford, invaded the premises and Holmes, as was his wont with clients, disarmed Mr Emsworth Senior by knowing exactly what it was all about. A careful examination proved Godfrey Emsworth did not have leprosy – his comely body was as clear of taint as his gentle soul – but only a temporary skin irritation which had by no means been bettered by applications of strong caustics and disinfectants. Indeed, had we not intervened I doubt the poor fellow would have had any skin to speak of, after such scourings and cleansings. I sent the quack doctor who had traded on a good man’s ignorance packing with a flea in his ear, after throwing his noxious nostrums into the fire, and recommending he take to an honest trade.

Once cleared of all taint of illness, Godfrey’s re-union with his friend would have brought tears to a harder heart than mine. Holmes did not weep – I would hate to see him weep, especially if I were not there to offer a shoulder – but those expressive grey eyes of his sparkled with joy, and there was a spring in his step as, at his suggestion, we trod back to the house with Mr Emsworth senior, leaving the two young men to their mutual delight in each other.

Of course, truly happy endings do not occur in these sad times. They had still the father to deal with, and a return to the world. Whatever young Godfrey might have to suffer because of the supposed taint of his birth – which I, along with many of the more enlightened in society, do not consider a taint at all – and whatever Mr Dodd might have to suffer by association with him, they would have to bear together as best they might.

For myself, I think the worth of a beloved friend is incalculable. Fortunate indeed is he who has such a friend: the one man in a thousand with whom one would walk to the world’s end, to the gallows’ foot and after, a friend for whom one would bear any shame, any hardship. A true friend, grappled, as Hamlet says, to one’s soul with hoops of steel, is all a man could hope for and dream of. I would want nothing better – could ask for nothing better - for myself. It would be no hardship to bear anything with such a man – if we were together.

_Afterword_.

_‘So we are returning to India, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. Godfrey here has a fancy to try his hand at the tea planting, and I shall sell out and add my funds to his. We have done with England for good now, and shall not return.’_

_‘I wish you very happy,’ replied Holmes, gravely, shaking each young man by the hand, as they stood there, radiant in their health and happiness. ‘I wish you very well indeed, and am glad to have been of assistance.’_

_‘Will you come out to see us, Dr Watson?’ Godfrey looked from one to the other of us. ‘You and Mr Holmes?’_

_‘Perhaps,’ I told him, happy for their joy: they were as men whose lives had been renewed. ‘Mr Holmes and I have our own road to follow, you know.’_

_And so they left, us, in all the strength of their affection for each other, to make their way in the world. Holmes and I settled down to our fire and our claret but I could see he was still restless, for his attention was not on the great scrapbook that lay on his knee, nor on the pipe, held loose and unregarded in his slender, beautiful hand._

_‘What is their chance of happiness?’ he asked me, abruptly, after a long silence. ‘Will they be happy, do you think, Watson?’_

_‘As good a chance as any,’ I said to him. ‘They have a strong mutual affection for each other – no, it is more than affection, it is love. They are wedded soul to soul, mind to mind. It augurs well, Holmes. And there is kindness between them, duty on both sides, honour and bravery, and a long habit of settled friendship. Why should not their chance of happiness be as good as any in the world?’_

_‘The world may frown on them.’_

_‘Let it frown then,’ I told him. ‘Let it frown if it must. For they love each other, and so have courage to face its ill-will.'_

 

**Author's Note:**

> The treatment of Eurasian children, born of British fathers and Indian mothers was one of the many blots on the escutcheon of the British Raj.
> 
> We might hear from Watson again - and so might Holmes.


End file.
